


sucker for you

by starboykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Clubbing, Consent, Dancing, Fluff, Heavy Drinking, Heavy Petting, M/M, Making Out, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 10:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16659304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: Keith's mouth shapes Shiro's name, and then he's taking Shiro's free hand and dragging him into the dance.





	sucker for you

**Author's Note:**

> i've placed them in english university so i don't have to dance around the american drinking age (ours is 18) and so i could have them clubbing
> 
> this deals with consent! happy ending and no warnings required so no worries

Shiro spots him first.

Keith’s arms are above his head, body moving and hips swaying to the music, and an involuntary buzz of heat swells through Shiro.

Keith looks _good_.

He’s wearing patent trousers, tight as hell and shining in the neon lights, topped by an equally tight shirt – _cropped_ , Shiro realises as Keith turns towards him and he gets a glimpse of slim waist, toned abs – and the next heat that shudders through Shiro takes an entirely inappropriate direction.

The cup in Keith’s hand is empty.

It’s difficult to find him when Shiro returns from the bar, two vodka lemonades in hand, but he searches for the wrist decorated in red leather and sidles up to Keith unseen.

Nerves nearly overtake him for a moment, but Shiro taps Keith on the shoulder. He knows they’ll never be heard over the music, but Keith turns and his smile is so wide, so bright that Shiro’s heart skips a beat.

Keith’s mouth shapes Shiro’s name, and Shiro proffers the cup. Their fingers touch as Keith takes it, his movement never stopping, and before Shiro can process the brief touch Keith is taking his free hand and dragging Shiro into the dance.

They dance close at first, joined hands twisting and Keith tugs Shiro closer, gazing up at him with eyes reflecting the lights and bright with joy.

Then Keith grins and turns around, putting Shiro’s hand on his bare waist and grinding against him, quick enough that Shiro gasps and feels the shudder of Keith’s laugh as he backs up.

He swears but it’s lost to the music, getting hold of himself and keeping to the rhythm, breath stolen from his lungs at the never-ending movement of Keith’s hips.

They’ve been dancing around something for months now. Shiro doesn’t miss the way Keith’s eyes drag over his body when he thinks Shiro isn’t looking; never misses the way Keith’s eyes soften when he sees him, or the way Keith relaxes when Shiro touches him.

There’s no way he could miss the way Lance giggles and Keith slaps him whenever Shiro enters a room.

But, Shiro thinks hazily, he’s been just as obvious – he hardly hides his magnetic attraction to Keith, that gravitational pull keeping him in Keith’s orbit. Keith makes him tender, hopelessly romantic and prone to inane daydreams; he can be prickly, but the soft affection between them is something Shiro’s never known.

Then again, Keith’s fiery, passionate, vibrant in a way that makes Shiro shy. There’s only a year between them, but sometimes Shiro worries he can’t keep up with Keith.

Not that he should. Keith would never leave him behind.

He’s gotten pretty introspective for a guy whose best friend is grinding on him.

Shiro throws back the rest of his drink just before it’s knocked from his hand, and though littering brings a flash of guilt it means he has both hands free to touch Keith.

It’s not like Shiro never thinks about their size difference, but it’s inevitable like this, his hands spreading wide on Keith’s waist and Keith’s head tipping back onto his shoulder. Keith’s singing, something which only happens past drink number four, and Shiro laughs and pulls him closer even as Keith steps on his foot.

He’s close enough to kiss, Shiro realises.

Before he can lean down, perhaps brush an ‘accidental’ kiss against Keith’s cheek, Keith turns in his grip and loops his arms around Shiro’s neck.

It’s minutes but it feels like hours, staring at Keith with electric space between them, and Shiro sees the spark in Keith’s eyes and the twitch of his smile before he realises what Keith’s planning.

When their lips meet, Shiro’s eyes fall closed. The first kiss is gentle, as though Keith were unsure of its reception, but Shiro moves a hand to the back of Keith’s head and crushes them close. Their lips part for only a second before Shiro kisses him again, letting Keith lick into his mouth before taking control, tilting their heads to kiss Keith as deep as possible.

Shiro thought it’d feel cheap, being that asshole making out without care in the middle of the dance floor and making everyone else uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care at all, too focused on the way Keith’s stomach muscles tense under his wandering hands.

They part eventually for air and Shiro can’t help his smile, taking Keith’s hand and twirling him as though the song playing isn’t fucking ‘Mr. Brightside’. Keith doesn’t stop dancing when Shiro lets him go, but there’s a small, pleased edge to his smile that wasn’t there before, and Shiro laughs and strokes Keith’s cheek.

The smile gracing Keith’s face at that is gorgeous and Shiro wishes he wasn’t seeing it in this dingy club illuminated by flashing lights.

Keith gets them out before Shiro can, though, raising two fingers to his mouth in imitation of a cigarette, and Shiro nods. Neither of them smoke, but it’s become their group’s universal symbol for ‘let’s get out of here’.

He loses Keith in the crowd despite their attempt to hold hands, and makes his way outside alone, stopping to hand his raffle ticket into the cloakroom and retrieve his denim jacket. As usual, Keith didn’t bring a jacket – he gets cold at the slightest breeze but refuses to compromise the aesthetic of his outfit.

When he finds Keith outside, he’s talking to someone Shiro doesn’t know, but Keith breaks away when he spots Shiro.

“Hey,” Shiro says. The cold air is far more sobering than the hot sweaty breath of the club, and he shrugs into his denim jacket.

“Hey,” Keith says, and his expression strikes Shiro as slightly shy. “Want one?”

Shiro takes the chewing gum and pops it into his mouth. There are goosebumps on Keith’s arms. Shiro wants to rub them away.

“What do you wanna do now?” Keith asks. It should sound like a come-on, but it’s because they usually go to McDonald’s after clubbing. Shiro gets the feeling neither of them are in the mood for it tonight.

“It’s 3am,” Shiro says. Keith runs his tongue over his teeth, and Shiro feels reignited. “We should go home,” he offers. His ulterior motive here pales in comparison to getting Keith out of the cold and into... whatever they’re doing now.

“Hell yeah,” Keith says. He slides his hand into Shiro’s back pocket, and his smirk makes Shiro bite his lip.

They go to Shiro’s house, because Allura’s gone home for the weekend and they never go to Keith’s student accommodation for fear of overhearing his flatmates having sex.

Shiro also takes them back to his because – Keith’s bed is only a single.

When they reach Shiro’s street, Keith brings them to a stop, working cold hands under Shiro’s shirt, touching him with unmistakable intent. Shiro swallows and lets him, pressing kisses to the skin he can reach – Keith’s ear, cheek, neck, and with that they ditch their gum and Keith tugs them towards Shiro’s house instead.

They make it through the front door and Keith laughs as Shiro pushes him up against the wall, kicking the door shut and shoving his thigh between Keith’s legs. He can’t quite seem to catch his breath and the room spins and Shiro presses his forehead against Keith’s shoulder, one hand slipping back to grab Keith’s ass.

“Okay?” Keith asks, and Shiro runs his tongue over Keith’s pulse in lieu of a reply, relishing Keith’s intake of breath and kissing his jaw.

Keith takes Shiro’s face in his hands and searches his expression and Shiro nods, regaining enough charm to say, “You’re very distracting.”

“Am I,” Keith says warmly, running his hands through Shiro’s hair instead and pushing him back down.

Shiro gives him a hickey, because fuck it – he wants them to remember all of this tomorrow, likes seeing his mark on Keith, likes the moan Keith viciously cuts off as he reddens in embarrassment, palms going clammy against Shiro’s skin.

His hips don’t stop moving, though, short jerks against Shiro’s thigh between his legs until it becomes obvious to Shiro Keith doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, instinctively searching for friction.

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro breathes, unable to find words – Keith looks so, _feels_ so good.

“Upstairs?” Keith asks. Gaze drawn by the shadow of his eyelashes, Shiro notices with awe how dark Keith’s eyes have become. Keith pushes the jacket from Shiro’s shoulders, twisting in his grip and politely hanging it on the hook.

“Yeah,” Shiro says hurriedly. They tug each other up the stairs, mouths on mouths and mouths on necks but they finally make it into Shiro’s room and Shiro’s thankful his bed isn’t covered in clothes when he pushes Keith down onto it. It’s barely more than a moment before he follows, falling easily between Keith’s spread legs and finding his mouth as if drawn by a magnet. Keith's hard, too, and the first brush of heady contact hits Shiro like lightning.

Being in a bed changes the atmosphere, brings more fire into Keith’s eyes, and Shiro kisses his neck and pushes Keith’s tiny shirt up, hand huge on Keith’s ribcage. Keith arches into the touch, tilting his chin up, and Shiro looks down at him and wonders if Keith would do the same when Shiro fucks him.

The thought brings an involuntary noise from his throat and Keith grins and catches his lips again, sliding his tongue into Shiro’s mouth, hot and wet and overwhelming and Shiro’s hand tightens on his waist, drawing back enough to suck Keith’s bottom lip into his mouth. He teases a hint of teeth and swells with heat when Keith responds, hands overeager on Shiro’s back and fisting in his shirt. Shiro keeps it light, bites and pulls gently at Keith’s lip and Keith _moans_ , a reaction that looks to have shocked him as much as it shocked Shiro.

“You’re so hot,” Shiro pants into his mouth, and with that Keith’s hands dip a little lower, one sliding under the waistband of Shiro’s jeans and the other on Shiro’s fly, popping the button on his jeans, so close to where Shiro’s hard and twitching with the thought of Keith’s hands on him.

Still he jerks away, nervous and excited and consumed with an emotion he can’t name. Just a moment’s pause, he tells himself, and then –

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith breathes, breaking their kiss. “I want you.”

The slur in his voice is unmistakable. Shiro searches Keith’s hazy eyes, his dopey smile, and shifts his weight so he isn’t pressing Keith down. He can smell the alcohol on Keith’s breath, taste it in his mouth. He feels in control, right now, but he might not feel the same tomorrow.

“Shiro?” Keith asks, but there’s a whining edge to his voice, not concern, and that settles it.

Shiro shakes his head. “Hang on.”

 _We shouldn’t do this_ , he thinks, and then, more firmly: _We can’t do this_.

Keith’s hands keep sneaking over his body, grabbing his ass and arm, and Shiro gets fed up and grabs both of Keith’s wrists and pins them over his head.

“Oh, fuck,” Keith whispers, eyes wide, and Shiro’s cheeks burn.

“I just – I’m just trying to think,” he blurts out, but he doesn’t let go.

“Go ahead,” Keith says, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Shiro curses himself for letting that innuendo slip by.

“We’re drunk,” he says, desperately trying to collect enough brain cells for a thought. “We should – tomorrow. Talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Keith says, voice low.

Shiro takes a deep breath, heat collecting behind his navel. “I know,” he says. _I don’t either_ , he doesn’t say.

It’s a hell of a position for two people who aren’t going to have sex, so Shiro releases Keith’s wrists and climbs off him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Keith rubs a hand over his back, and Shiro closes his eyes and appreciates it for a moment before standing up.

“If we have a first time,” Shiro says slowly, back still turned, “we are _not_ going to be drunk for it.”

“I’d never have kissed you sober,” Keith tells him.

“Maybe not,” Shiro says. He’d never have made the move in the first place. “Want some water?”

“Sure,” Keith says, flopping onto his back. Shiro looks away from the casual spread of Keith’s thighs and forces himself downstairs, pouring two glasses of water and pressing one to his forehead, trying to cool down, trying to _think_.

Keith will stay – it’s late and Shiro doesn’t want him out in the streets at this hour – but they’re not sleeping next to each other. That’s fair. They can talk about it tomorrow. That’s a little daunting, but this is the kind of thing that makes or breaks a relationship, and Shiro never, ever wants to lose Keith.

It’s with this conviction blooming warm and strong in his chest that Shiro climbs the stairs, pushing his bedroom door open to the sight of Keith smiling at himself in the mirror, cheeks red and kissable.

Shiro stands and stares for a moment, and Keith startles when he notices Shiro in the doorway, smile stretching into something self-conscious.

“You’re cute as hell, you know,” Shiro says.

Keith straightens up and Shiro’s eyes dip back to his abs and the bulge in his gleaming patent trousers. “Oh yeah?” Keith says, and his lips are wearing a smirk when Shiro looks up. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Shiro finds himself blushing and blames it on the alcohol. “Here you go,” he says to avoid responding. Their fingers touch on the glass and Shiro’s reminded of that first touch in the club earlier – so innocent at the time but just one of many stepping stones that led them to this moment. Perhaps Keith’s thinking the same; his eyes flit down and away.

“Thank you.”

They sit beside each other on the bed, close enough that they’re touching, automatic and natural enough that Shiro relaxes despite himself.

Keith sets his empty glass down quietly. “Are you gonna kick me out of bed?” he asks, direct as always, and with that Shiro gets the sense that Keith’s embarrassed too. Absurdly, it makes him feel better.

“Of course not,” he says. “You’re staying. Wouldn’t want the clowns to get you.” He feels stupid as soon as he says it, but Keith laughs.

“Fair enough,” he says, and his smile’s a little shy when Shiro glances up. “I’m… I’m pretty tired.”

No wonder, Shiro thinks, because Keith had a 9am class this morning and _still_ decided to come out tonight.

“I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” Shiro says. “Do you wanna…”

“Nah,” Keith says.

“Gross.”

“Fuck off.”

Shiro snorts and heads to the bathroom. Feeling significantly more sober, he still can’t resist grinning at himself in the mirror.

Keith hasn’t moved by the time he returns, tracing Shiro’s star projector nightlight.

“You can’t wear that to bed,” Shiro says.

“Watch me,” Keith says, but he sounds too sleepy for the rebuke to take hold. Shiro gets a shirt out of his drawer and throws it at Keith, who looks up and catches it before it hits him in the face.

Shiro doesn’t look as Keith gets dressed. Before, they never cared, but now – now, something’s changed between them, and Shiro respects and cares for Keith far too much to take advantage. Even if it was just a look.

“Done,” Keith says, and when Shiro turns, he’s smiling wryly, sitting with his legs crossed. “Like we haven’t got changed in front of each other a million times.”

Keith does not spare Shiro the same courtesy, and Shiro gives Keith the finger when he wolf-whistles.

“Shut it, you,” he says, wishing for the first time he could wear a shirt to bed. It’s no use – he’d just wake up sweating in the middle of the night – and so Shiro shrugs off Keith’s eyes and grabs the blanket from where it’s tangled around a bedpost, figuring it can serve as his duvet tonight.

Keith watches him carefully as he approaches. They usually share Shiro’s double bed.

“Come on,” Shiro says. Keith doesn’t argue for once, wriggling under the covers and giving Shiro plaintive eyes. Shiro grabs the second pillow and throws it onto the futon too.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” Keith says, and it’s not like Shiro doesn’t trust Keith, or that he doesn’t trust himself – he just wants to do this right. And not drunk.

“I am tonight,” Shiro says.

“You’re my best friend, Shiro.”

Shiro hides his smile. He tucks the duvet down the side of the bed, knowing he hates it himself when it’s loose and letting cold air in, but Keith squirms and musses the sheets up by his feet anyway. Shiro writes him off as a lost cause, and hesitates before bending and kissing his forehead.

“My knight in shining armour,” Keith says, and before Shiro can react Keith’s hand is on the back of his neck, drawing him down into another passionate kiss.

“Stop it,” Shiro reprimands, and his gaze fixes on the flash of Keith’s canines as he grins. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You’re harshing my buzz.” Keith pouts, and Shiro drags his eyes away from Keith’s full bottom lip. He’s determined to do this right, and if that means denying himself the one thing – the one _person_ he wants most, so be it.

“Sleep it off,” he says, unable to resist stroking a hand over Keith’s hair. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

He expects a mocking or suggestive reply, but Keith’s quiet, “Thanks,” makes him feel like he’s done something right.

“Okay,” Shiro says, mostly to himself. He doesn’t bother pulling out the bed, but turns the light out and just lies down on the futon, tugging the blanket over himself. After a moment, a switch flicks and stars fill the room and Shiro smiles, imagining Keith’s delight at the projector.

He’d planned to stay awake until Keith fell asleep, but the weight of alcohol on his brain presses him down into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Shiro had hoped to wake up first, so there’s a distinct feeling of disappointment when he wakes to Keith gently saying his name. Keith’s sat up in bed, bird nest of hair flopping over his eyes, and Shiro’s heart flops in his chest.

“Shiro,” Keith says when he sees he’s got Shiro’s attention. He sounds panicked. “Did I – did we – “

Shiro jumps to reassure him. “No,” he promises. “No, I wouldn’t – we were drunk.”

“I kissed you,” Keith says.

“Yes.”

“You kissed me back.”

Shiro swallows. “Yeah.”

“You’ve never said anything,” Keith says, and with that Shiro glances away. He locates his shirt, slung over the arm of the sofa, and pulls it on, feeling only slightly less exposed.

“Neither did you,” Shiro says, but that isn’t exactly fair.

He didn’t say anything because everyone looks at Keith, because Keith’s been magnetic ever since he came out of his shell and beautiful since – always. In the past year, Keith’s become more to him than anyone ever has, and Shiro wouldn’t dare try for something more when what they had was enough.

“You want some coffee?” he asks. He rubs clammy hands on his sweatpants, hammering heartbeat telling him to get away.

“Sure,” Keith says, blinking owlishly. The mark on his neck is deep red. Shiro can't decide between being embarrassed or smug, but when Keith rubs a hand over his neck in an innocent morning stretch, Shiro decides he likes it. Likes it a lot.

He's grateful for the reprieve making coffee gives him, a floor away from Keith’s bedhead and sleepy eyes. Keith comes down eventually, and that’s when Shiro remembers what Keith wore to the club and what he’d given Keith to wear to bed.

Mercifully, Keith’s wearing his own boxers under Shiro’s shirt. Usually, he doesn’t bother.

“Morning,” Shiro says dumbly, as if they hadn’t already exchanged greetings.

Keith notices and grins, but doesn’t pick him up on it. “I used your toothbrush,” he says.

“You ought to have one here,” Shiro says without thinking, and there’s a moment of breathless silence.

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly. “Good idea.”

They don’t speak again until Shiro places two coffees on the table, Keith’s black and his own ghostly white. Keith wrinkles his nose but skips the jibe.

“How’s the hangover?” Shiro asks when he’s inhaled half the mug. He’s got a headache himself, but nowhere near as bad as it would’ve been if he hadn’t had water before bed.

“Haven’t got one,” Keith says with an air of superiority. Shiro did think he looked too perky this morning.

“You’re the worst,” Shiro says, groaning. “It’s unfair how much you can put away, you know that?”

“I know,” Keith says smugly.

The atmosphere eases after a while. Shiro thinks about making breakfast – after a glance at the clock, he realises he’ll be making lunch – and Keith puts down his mug and looks like he has something to say.

Shiro finishes his coffee and opens his mouth to ask at the same moment Keith says, “Will you be my boyfriend?” with the kind of determined focus with which he approaches everything.

It’s the dregs of coffee in Shiro’s throat that make him start coughing like a heavy smoker. Keith regards him with a patient but amused air.

When Shiro catches his breath, he puts his mug down harder than he meant to. “Give a guy some warning,” he croaks. Keith tilts his head to one side, an unconscious gesture that makes Shiro’s chest go tight.

Shiro thought he’d need time to think about it – how to resolve last night, how to resolve their future – but when it comes down to it, there’s only one answer he can give.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good,” Keith says, pleased, and the word is possessive in a way that has Shiro suppressing a laugh. Keith takes Shiro’s hand, turning it over and tracing his fingers. “I promise I thought about it first,” he adds, not looking up. “I’m not drunk. I still want you.”

“I thought as much,” Shiro says. “But it wasn’t just you. I wasn’t gonna do that – I mean, talk about this while drunk.”

“You were right,” Keith says, and to Shiro’s questioning glance continues, “I don’t want to be drunk for our first time either.”

His smile widens and Shiro groans. “Would it have been too much for you to forget that?”

“Never,” Keith says. “Now,” he adds, rubbing a thumb over Shiro’s palm and looking up shyly, “kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command,” Shiro says, and their lips meet like fate.

**Author's Note:**

> kind of an odd fic but i like the dynamic i wrote here
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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